Chapter 61 Penthouse

Chapter 61 Penthouse
We moved through the penthouse like a grotesque parade.

Vesper led, his grip on the back of my neck unyielding, forcing my father forward at a stumbling pace. I followed, the Glock heavy and alien in my shaking hand, its barrel trained on the center of Seratti's silk-covered back.

The opulence of the apartment felt obscene now. We tracked mud and blood onto plush cream carpets. We passed million-dollar views of the city skyline that I had taken for granted as a child, now just illuminated backdrops for a hostage situation.

Every step was a battle against the sickening truth that had just been dumped on me. Hera. My blood was her blood. The violet fire wasn't an invading force; it was home-grown. I looked at my own hands, tightening on the gun grip, and wondered if the capacity for violence I’d discovered wasn't survival instinct at all, but just genetic programming.

Focus, Vesper’s voice, hard and deep, cut through my spiraling thoughts, though he hadn't spoken aloud. He sensed my drift through the bond. Martha was your mother. Sylvia is your sister. Hold the line.

I swallowed hard, pushing the self-loathing behind Estava's cold iron wall. It was harder now. The wall felt porous, brittle.

We reached the master suite double doors. Vesper kicked them open without breaking stride.

The room was vast, decorated in severe grays and blacks. My father's scent—expensive cologne and stale scotch—was stronger here.

"The closet," I said, my voice sounding brittle. "The false panel is in the back, behind the suit racks."

Vesper shoved him toward the cavernous walk-in closet. We pushed past rows of Italian suits and designer shoes. It smelled of cedar and arrogance.

At the very back, disguised as a full-length mirror panel, was the entrance to the panic room. There was no handle, just a sleek black glass panel embedded in the wall next to it at eye level. A biometric scanner.

"Open it," Vesper commanded, slamming him face-first against the mirror.

"You're making a mistake," he gasped, his cheek pressed against the glass. "I know Enzo helped you two. He set you up. The second that door opens, a silent alarm trips in the lobby. You’ll never get her out."

"If you're lying, I break your arm," Vesper said calmly. "If you're telling the truth, we take our chances with the guards. Either way, the door opens. Now."

He yanked him back and jammed his right thumb onto the scanner pad.

Seratti hissed in pain as Vesper applied too much pressure. The scanner beeped once. A red light flashed.

PRINT CONFIRMED.

"Retinal scan," Vesper growled. "Look at the light, Thomas."

He squeezed his eyes shut tight, a petulant, terrified child denying reality. "No. Go to hell. Both of you."

"We're already there, Dad," I whispered.

Vesper didn't have time for games. He shifted his grip, his hand clamping onto his jaw, digging his fingers into the pressure points. My father groaned, his head forced immobile in front of the scanner.

"Sylvania," Vesper said, his voice tight with the effort of holding the struggling man. "I need you. Open his eye."

I froze. The gun felt suddenly impossibly heavy. To do that—to physically violate him like that—felt like crossing a final line. It felt like something Hera would do.

"He's stalling," Vesper urged, his green eyes blazing into mine. "Every second we waste is a second closer to those codes expiring. Do it for Sylvia."

Sylvia.

I holstered the Glock in the waistband of my oversized jeans with my good hand. I stepped forward, the smell of Seratti’s sweat and fear filling my nose. My broken shoulder screamed in protest at the movement, a sharp reminder of why we were here.

"Don't," my dad pleaded, his eyes still squeezed shut, sweat beading on his forehead. "Sylvie, please. Don't let him win."

"You killed Martha," I said, my voice devoid of emotion. The iron wall slammed shut in my mind, sealing away pity, sealing away doubt.

I reached up with my good hand. My fingers, still faintly vibrating with residual violet energy, dug into the loose skin around his left eye. It was visceral and awful, the feel of his eyelashes against my skin as he fought me.

I forced his eyelid open.

He tried to roll his eye back, tried to look away, but the scanner found him. A beam of red light traced his iris.

SCAN CONFIRMED. ACCESS GRANTED.

A heavy pneumatic hiss filled the closet. The mirrored panel popped outward an inch, then slid smoothly to the left, revealing a heavy steel blast door.

The smell hit us instantly—stale, recycled air, chemical toilet disinfectant, and the sharp, sour tang of terror.

The room inside was small, stark, lit by a single fluorescent strip. A cot, a metal toilet, shelves stocked with MREs and water bottles.

And curled in the far corner on the floor, wrapped in a thin gray blanket, was my little sister.

"Sylvia?" I choked out, stumbling past Vesper into the room.

She flinched violently at the sound of my voice, pulling the blanket tighter over her head. She was shaking, a tiny ball of misery.

"Go away," she mumbled, her voice hoarse from crying. "Enzo said you're dead. He said you're all dead."

"I'm not dead, Lil-bit," I whispered, dropping to my knees beside her, ignoring the agony in my shoulder. I reached out slowly, touching her shoulder. She was bone thin beneath the blanket. "It's me. It's Sylvie. I swear."

Slowly, hesitantly, she lowered the blanket.

Her face was gaunt, her eyes huge and shadowed with dark circles. Her hair, usually so neat, was a tangled mess. When she saw me—the dirt, the bruises, the sling—her lips parted in disbelief.

"Sylvie?" she whispered. Then her eyes darted past me to the doorway. "Daddy?"

She saw Vesper first, the terrifying, battered Warlord blocking the exit. Then she saw Seratti, slumped against the doorframe, cradling his numb arm, looking defeated.

"It's okay," I said, pulling her into a desperate one-armed hug. She felt fragile, like a bird that had been crushed. "We're getting you out of here."

"We have to move," Vesper’s voice cut through the reunion from the doorway. He wasn't looking at us; he was looking at his watch. "We have eight minutes before the elevator locks us down."

He turned his attention to Seratti, who was eyeing the open door with desperate calculation.

"You're coming with us," Vesper said to my father. "Hostage insurance until we clear the lobby."

"I can't," Sylvia whispered against my chest, her body rigid. "Enzo said if I leave the room, the bad men will get me. He said there are monsters outside."

I pulled back, cupping her face with my good hand, forcing her to look at me.

"Enzo lied," I said fiercely. "The only monsters here are the ones who locked you in this cage." I jerked my head toward Vesper. "That’s Vesper. He’s... he’s a friend. He’s going to get us out."

Vesper looked at Sylvia. The harshness softened, just for a second, into something profoundly sad. "Come on, little one. Time to go."

I helped her stand. She was weak, stumbling on legs that hadn't walked much in days.

We stepped out of the panic room back into the closet.

"Move, Thomas," Vesper commanded, shoving Seratti toward the bedroom.

"Wait," my father gasped, stopping short. He looked at me, then at Sylvia, a strange, frantic look in his eyes. "Sylvania, listen to me. The files. In the panic room safe. You need to see them. Before you go to Hera."

"Shut up," Vesper snarled, grabbing his arm. "Another delay tactic."

"No!" My dad insisted, resisting Vesper’s pull with surprising strength. "It's about the deal! The deal I made with her! You don't know what she is! You don't know what you are!"

"I know enough," I said coldly, pulling Lily closer to my side.

"You don't know about the fail-safe!" He shouted, desperation cracking his voice. "She didn't just want a vessel, Sylvania! She built in a contingency!"

Vesper hesitated. "What contingency?"

A soft ding echoed from the foyer far down the hall.

Vesper cursed viciously. "Time's up. The elevator just reset. They know we're here."

He didn't wait for my dad's explanation. He drew his arm back and slammed his fist into my dad's temple. My father crumpled to the plush carpet without a sound, out cold.

"Change of plan," Vesper said, his voice tight with adrenaline. "He's dead weight now. We leave him." He looked at me and Sylvia, his green eyes blazing. "We're fighting our way out."